


How Does it Feel (To Be the Skeleton in the Closet)

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [23]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Autistic Jerrie Rathaway, Hartley Rathaway Needs a Hug, Homophobia, M/M, Rachel Rathaway's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “They photoshopped him out.”Barry turns. The red-haired girl stands pensively at his side, staring at the mantel. She’s wearing green pajamas onto which music notes appear to have been lovingly doodled.“See?” Without waiting for acknowledgment, she taps the foremost photograph, which depicts her at a young age with her parents standing to either side of her. “My brother was holding me in this photograph, or I wouldn’t have sat still. When my parents made him leave, they didn’t want any pictures of him, but they liked this one, so they paid to have him photoshopped out.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	How Does it Feel (To Be the Skeleton in the Closet)

When Barry is called out of bed at three in the morning for a case, his first thought is _Goddamnit Snart._ Why his mind immediately goes to Captain Cold, he has no idea. As it turns out, this is remarkably prescient, but at the time, it’s only irritable. 

“Hmm?” Hartley snuffles and raises his head. Barry stops struggling into his jeans to kiss his brow. 

“It’s just work, Hart. Go back to sleep.” 

Hartley makes a contented sound low in his throat, rolls over, and falls instantly back asleep. Barry gives him another kiss. It’s good to see him sleeping peacefully after weeks of nightmares. Another time, he’d stay and snuggle him. For now, he has to go. 

He arrives at the appointed address in record time (running at three in the morning is excellent because of the relative lack of traffic) and skids to a halt upon seeing the residence. If Joe had told him who was robbed, he wouldn’t have run. 

(That’s a lie, but he’d have run to run, not run to be on time.)

“For once, Mr. Allen, you’re timely.” Singh is clutching a cup of coffee as though it contains the final shreds of his sanity. At three in the morning, it very well might. “This is a massive residence, so to spare you some trouble: the thief came in through a window well in the basement, up the stairs here, and stole several million dollars’ worth of valuables, all from this floor. They were too clever to risk going upstairs and being seen, and they disabled the security feed while they were in the basement.”

Of course they did, because why would anyone make Barry’s job easy? 

“I have to go…take witness statements.” Singh says this with the same grim finality someone might use to say they were on their way to have a root canal. 

“You could, um, delegate,” Barry offers quietly. 

“No.” Singh shakes his head and drains the last of his coffee in a massive gulp. “Going myself accomplishes two things: makes it look like they’re getting the CCPD’s wholehearted attention, and makes them very uncomfortable. If you’ll excuse me.” 

While Singh accomplishes these noble goals, Barry takes evidence. By the time he’s finished examining the first-floor rooms, dawn has broken outside. He means to call it a job well (if tediously) done, leave the premises, and never return. A glimpse of the photographs on the mantel stops him. 

Thankfully, he has not interacted with the denizens of this unfortunate residence. This is his first time seeing them: a bespectacled man with dark, receding hair; a tall, auburn-haired woman, always wearing pearls; a small, elfin girl with bright red hair and freckles. Although the adults change little between the photographs, the girl ages from very small to young adulthood across the mantel. 

“They photoshopped him out.” 

Barry turns. The red-haired girl stands pensively at his side, staring at the mantel. She’s wearing green pajamas onto which music notes appear to have been lovingly doodled. 

“See?” Without waiting for acknowledgment, she taps the foremost photograph, which depicts her at a young age with her parents standing to either side of her. “My brother was holding me in this photograph, or I wouldn’t have sat still. When my parents made him leave, they didn’t want any pictures of him, but they liked this one, so they paid to have him photoshopped out.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Barry asks quietly. He’s not sure his heart could take it if she keeps talking. 

“Because Mama and Papa said to be honest with the police.” She looks at him with too-wide, too-blue eyes. “I don’t know if it’s relevant or not.” 

“Um.” He has no idea how to respond to that. “Thanks, I guess, Jerrie.”

She recoils and her mouth gapes open. “You know my name!” she proclaims. “You’re fae like I am!” 

Barry isn’t going to ask her what that means, because he’ll get distracted and he can’t afford that. “Uh, no, I…I’m not fae, whatever that means? I just know your brother.” 

It’s heartbreaking how quickly she lights up. “You know Hart? Is he okay? Why didn’t he answer my letters? Does he think I hate him like Mama and Papa? I don’t, I love him, I miss him, you have to tell him that please!” 

“I will.” If Barry had any hopes of getting out of this house without a broken heart, they’ve evaporated now. “But I’ll tell you this, he misses you lots. He never talks about your parents, but he talks about you.” 

Jerrie wraps her arms around herself and rocks. “He does?” 

“Jerrie.” For the second time in as many minutes, Barry jumps at an unknown voice. This time, it’s Rachel, who lays a hand on Jerrie’s shoulder and gives her a sickeningly patronizing look. “You already spoke to Captain Singh. Leave the nice CSI to do his work.”

“He knows Hartley!” She pulls away from her mother’s grasp. “I want to keep talking with him.”

“Does he?” Rachel’s eyes flit to Barry’s face. Unlike Hartley and Jerrie’s eyes, which are keen and full of passion, hers seem colorless and too-cool. “Then for that I’m sorry.”

Barry bristles. This is exactly the situation he was hoping to avoid. “Sorry, Mrs. Rathaway?”

“Hartley is intelligent, as I’m sure you know, but little else. He lacks any kind of social graces, and then there’s the matter of his unfortunate…predisposition.” Her lips thin. Barry fights not to recoil. He’s seen that exact expression on Hartley’s face when he’s upset. It usually fills him with compassion; he’s not prepared for the wave of loathing he feels toward her. “If he’s made no attempts on your dignity, consider yourself fortunate.”

“Attempts on my…” Barry scoffs. “Mrs. Rathaway, Hartley is my partner. Any ‘attempts on my dignity’ are perfectly welcome.” 

She flinches as though he’s slapped her. Barry ought to stop—Singh will be forced to take him off the case if he continues—but the words don’t stop. 

“You know, I wondered, I really did, what kind of person could turn their child out on the street, especially when that child is as brilliant and eager to please as Hartley. And now I get it. You have _no idea_ what a treasure you let slip through your fingers, do you? And worse, you made it so he doesn’t know, either.” 

Jerrie takes a step back so she’s behind her mother. For a moment, Barry fears he’s scared her. Then she starts bouncing, and he realizes she’s cheering him on. 

“I have so much I want to say to you.” If he doesn’t leave now, all those things will come pouring out, regardless of how hard he tries to stifle them. “But all I’m gonna say is this. I’m going to be there for Hartley because you weren’t, and I’m going to teach him how to know his own value because you never did. And the worst thing is, you’ll probably consider me subhuman because of it.” 

Before she has a chance to reply, he snatches up the evidence kit and stalks away. He can’t go back to the lab and process the evidence yet. If he doesn’t calm down first, he’ll just make mistake after mistake. 

After seeing the evidence loaded safely into the van, Barry runs back to the apartment. He finds Hartley awake and ready to walk out the door. “Hey, sweet boy. I’m on my way to STAR Labs, I’ll—you know what, I’ll wait on that. You look like you have something you need to talk about.” 

“Hart.” Barry lets Hartley lead him to the sofa. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” Hartley says, sounding bewildered. He settles on the sofa, pulls Barry down into his lap, and murmurs, “This is about the case you had to go to, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Barry musters a little laugh. “I’m, like, almost certain it was Snart, but he didn’t leave any fingerprints or anything behind, and he turned off the security footage before he would have been shown. Which is why I’m so sure it’s him—he’s methodical like that.”

Hartley grins. “He’d be pleased to hear you say that. Who did he rob?”

This is going to be the unpleasant part. “Um. Your parents.”

Hartley recoils as though Barry has slapped him. After a moment, he forces a laugh. “Well, I suppose Snart couldn’t have chosen a better house to rob. He’s probably a wealthy man right now.” 

“That’s not why I want to talk to you, though.” Fleetingly, Barry feels a pang of guilt. He should be able to keep this to himself; there’s no sense burdening Hartley with it, not when he’s keenly aware of what foul people his parents are. He quashes that thought before it’s fully formed. If he’s going to keep pushing Hartley for honesty, he might as well reciprocate. “I got to talk to Jerrie.”

Hartley’s face lights up in exactly the same way Jerrie’s had. “You did? Is she okay?”

“She misses you.” Barry understands what he really wants to know: whether the older Rathaways have broken her spirit the way they shattered his. That isn’t a question he can answer because he spent so little time with her, but from the way she’d stepped back and bounced when he snapped at her mother, he’s inclined to think they haven’t. “She says she tried to write to you and you didn’t answer.”

He shakes his head. “I never got any letters. I doubt they made it to the mailbox—they were probably fine kindling.” 

Barry wishes he could say it weren’t so, but from his brief interaction with Rachel, he suspects Hartley is right on the mark. “Um, and then your mother came over. When I said I knew you, she _apologized.”_ Thinking back to what she’d said makes him seethe anew. 

Hartley scoffs. “I’m not surprised she thinks so little of me. My parents always had realistic assessments of my skills—they never doted.” 

Barry turns around and pulls him into a fierce embrace. “They weren’t ‘realistic assessments’ of anything. Your parents were bigoted and harsh and they couldn’t see any of your strengths.”

“Let me guess, she said something along the lines of ‘he’s intelligent but doesn’t have any redeeming qualities’?” Hartley presses close-mouthed kisses to Barry’s cheek and jaw. “No, she’s right, I’ve known that all my life.”

“She’s not!” Barry squeezes him more tightly. “You’re brilliant, you’re so good to me, you’ve so often chosen to do the right thing even when you were hurting and it would have been easier to take that hurt out on everybody. And you don’t see that because she taught you not to see that. That’s what I told her.” 

“You didn’t have to defend me, sweet boy.” Hartley rubs his palm over Barry’s back. He’s trying to calm him down. Barry doesn’t need calmed down; he needs to get this off his chest and then smother Hartley in affection until he knows his parents were wrong. “They won’t change their minds. It’s not worth the effort.” 

“It’s worth it if she knows that no matter what she thinks of you, you’ve found someone who loves you.” It’s Barry’s turn to pepper kisses over Hartley’s cheek. “I love you and you’re important to me and…” Hartley turns his head away. Barry reconsiders. “And I’m overwhelming you, aren’t I?” 

Hartley gives a stiff, almost frightened nod. “I can’t hear those things right now and believe them. Maybe…maybe later, once I’ve processed, but right now all I can think is how sweet you look when you’re lying.”

Barry’s heart breaks anew, but he understands. He works himself into a similar headspace if he’s insulted, where the only thing that makes sense is the insult and anything that matches it. Trying to accept affirmation in that mindset is impossible; he can hardly even acknowledge the words being said to him. “I’ll tell you again when you can hear them properly. And…I’m sorry for putting this on you.”

“No, don’t be. If nothing else, I’m glad to hear you saw Jerrie.” Gently, Hartley pulls away. In place of a hug, he cups Barry’s cheek and rubs soothing arcs with his thumb. “I’m worried for you now, though. My mother doesn’t take slights very well. If you weren’t careful about the way you spoke to her—”

Barry flinches. He was too worked up to be careful. 

“I didn’t think you were. But she has all the information to look you up and make your life hell.” Hartley’s eyes flit back and forth across his face. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.” 

“You might not believe me, but I wouldn’t change how I reacted.”

Hartley’s lips twist ruefully. “Now that I believe. You’re nothing if not stubborn.” He sits forward and kisses Barry’s brow. “I don’t deserve you, but I love you.” 

Barry can’t answer the way he wants to; Hartley won’t be able to process it yet. He settles for shifting around so he can cuddle him some more. 

“Should I let you get to work?” Hartley sounds mostly amused. 

“Mm-mm, Singh probably thinks I came home to nap. It’s been a long morning already.” Barry doesn’t feel sleepy, although if they cuddle for long enough, he might doze off. “I’ve got some time.”

“And nothing I’m doing at STAR Labs is particularly urgent, so all right.” Hartley settles back and pulls Barry closer. “Let’s just stay here a while.”


End file.
